


Greg Veder, Conquering Hero

by Axxor



Category: Worm - Fandom
Genre: Action, Anal Sex, F/F, F/M, Gangbang, Harems, Oral Sex, Public Nudity, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axxor/pseuds/Axxor
Summary: This is a shortish story based around Taylor and Greg, set at some indeterminate point before she gets her powers. It has no bearing on the larger universe. Based on a prompt that Darik29 offered me. The chance of writing Greg Veder as the actual legitimate hero of the piece appealed to me.So, what if there was a situation where Greg actually managed to rescue Taylor from a horrible situation? How weird would that get?Well, let's go see ...





	1. Chapter 1

Worst. Night. Ever.

Seriously, everyone else is partying, and I'm just …  _somebody kill me. Please._

Okay, I get it. We love our sports. The Winslow Warriors actually managed to beat someone else, for once. Pretty sure they muffed the drug tests, or something. The Merchants must have come up with better-than-usual quality performance enhancers. Because there's  _no other fucking way_  that we'd actually win an actual football game against an actual other team. For fuck's sake, I've watched our team flake out when practising against  _itself._

Anyway, I was there. I saw it go down. (Go down in history as the first and last time ever, more like). We were up against the Arcadia Raptors, and they were  _fit._  Ripped as fuck, under their padding. They didn't  _need_  the padding.

And then there was our team. The jocks. They were fit, too, kind of. They had muscles as well, but it was more basic bulk. Dumb muscle, in more ways than one. And they had something else in common; every single one of them, to a man, had extorted me of my lunch money, given me the sort of wedgie that leaves a guy with bulging eyes and a squeaky voice, or (ah, the old favourite) shoved my head in a toilet and flushed away. Sometimes it had even been a clean toilet, too.

So yeah, no, I'm not a fan of our football team. How did you guess? And I'm not a fan of sports in general. Or anything else that manages to separate me from my nice quiet life of ferreting out the truth on the PHO boards – I  _must_  be getting close, or they wouldn't temp-ban me anywhere near as much as they do – and makes me go outside. You know, in the fresh air and the sunlight. Seriously, I  _burn._  And then I  _peel._  It's gross. You do not want to see that.  _I_  don't want to see that.

So anyway, there I was, on the grandstands, hat on my head, slathered in sunscreen for all that it was an overcast day (ultraviolet radiation is a  _thing,_ boys and girls. Look it up), watching our team get hammered into the ground, as per usual. I saw Taylor on the grandstand too, and I was going to sit next to her, but this one girl went and sat there instead. I saw her talking to Taylor, and patting her on the hand.

It was kinda wrong for me to be jealous, but I was, just a little bit. I'd been there for Taylor from the beginning, or at least I would've been if I was able to actually  _do_  anything. But I didn't want to cross Emma and Sophia any more than I wanted to cross the jocks who made every game of dodge-ball a contest to see how many bruises they could nail me with.

_This_  girl, I didn't even know her name, had only transferred in a few months ago. I didn't have any classes with her; she had an ordinary looking face, long blonde hair, and a secretive kind of smile. And she'd befriended Taylor, which was a point in her favour, because I'd never managed to get Taylor interested in hanging out, even when I described how great Space Opera was. I thought girls were supposed to be interested in computer games these days? I dunno.

Well, it looked like I wouldn't be sitting next to Taylor, so I brought out my alternative method of keeping up my interest; a notepad to keep score for each time one of my tormentors got his face ground into the mud.

What? A guy's gotta have a hobby.

Except that our guys  _weren't_  losing. Sure, the Arcadians were on the ball (heh), but it was the weirdest fucking thing. When they got the ball, one of our guys was right there to bring him down. But when our guys got the ball, they were just that little bit faster, that little bit stronger. I seriously saw one guy make a touchdown with like six opposition players hanging off of him. One of  _our_ guys.

I wasn't the only one trying to figure out if we'd made a sharp right into Bizarro World, either. The guys doing the in-game commentary sounded downright puzzled when they announced the score, and the girls running the scoreboard had to be reminded to put numbers up on Winslow's side.

But we kept on bringing down the Arcadia players, and our guys kept scoring touchdowns and kicking goals, and when the final horn went, it was a stunned and disbelieving audience that learned that we'd beaten them. Not by a huge amount – the guys from Arcadia  _had_  made a good showing – but we had, undeniably, beaten the Raptors. For the Brockton Bay Interschool Football Cup. For the first time  _ever._

When the news finally filtered through to us – it took a good thirty seconds, even with the scoreboard blatantly showing the news to one and all – our grandstands erupted in cheering and celebration. Not  _too_  much of a vigorous celebration, of course – the grandstands were old and decrepit, and might just collapse if we jumped up and down too much.

Well, most of the Winslow student body cheered. I didn't. I wasn't the only one, either. Beside the grandstand, I could hear the opposing team captain arguing with the referee. He wanted some sort of recount or official nullification of the result, on the entirely reasonable grounds that it was totally and ridiculously unbelievable. I would've publicly agreed with him if a) I thought it would do any good, b) I had even the slightest evidence that something screwy was going on, and c) I didn't know for certain that I'd get my ass beaten to a pulp by our team for speaking up.

But I knew one thing for certain. As soon as I got online, I was gonna speak my mind. Void Cowboy was going to tell the truth to one and all; the game had been fixed (somehow) and the Raptors had been robbed.

It probably wouldn't change the results any, but people would  _know._  And that was all that would matter.

Anyway, that was the plan. Plans and me don't mix, for some reason.

The first big snag with the plan was that Mom was waiting for me when I got home. Normally she'd be in her office doing whatever it is that she does, but this time she was actually waiting for me.

"Hi, Greg!" she greeted me brightly. "I hear the Warriors actually  _beat_  the Raptors! Isn't that amazing?"

"Yeah, amazing," I grunted wittily. "One bunch of mouth-breathers got a little bit more violent than another bunch of mouth-breathers. Be still my beating heart."

She gave me a critical look. "You know, Greg, I might almost think you aren't happy about this. Where's your school spirit?" Before I could make the obvious answer –  _what school spirit? –_  she went on. "So I hear there's going to be a street party to celebrate the win."

"That's great, Mom," I replied. "I hope they have fun."  _And I hope they end up with hangovers the size of Mexico's national debt._  I went to step past her, but she put her hand on my arm. "What?"

"It's a street party to celebrate the fact that  _your_ school won the Interschool Trophy, Greg. This is something worth celebrating."

She didn't mean what I think she meant.  _Please don't let her mean that._ "Uh, so?"

"So you're going, Gregory Frederick Forsythe Veder. You're going to go to that party, and you're going to mix with people, and you're going to have  _fun."_

_No. Bad idea. Party not fun._ Ignoring my brain's lapse into caveman speech, I shook my head. "Mom, I haven't been invited. I can't just  _go."_

To tell the truth, I wasn't actually averse to the idea of attending a party where there might be girls who might want to talk to me; teenage boy, hope springs eternal, that sort of thing. But what I  _didn't_ want was to end up facing drunk jocks in a social situation where even the minimal protection awarded by Winslow's faculty and staff was absent. And I  _would_ end up facing drunk jocks. I'm lucky like that.

She set her jaw.  _Shit._ "Greg, it's a  _street party._  You're invited by  _definition._  And you're going." She raised a finger. "And just this once, there's no curfew. You come home when you feel like coming home."

"But -"

"But nothing. You will stay out until  _at least_ ten o'clock, or it's your internet privileges for a week."

_Oh shit, she's playing hardball._  "Uh -"

There was a dangerous glint in her eye. "Yes?"

"Could I maybe get a lift?" Party was bad. Losing my precious internet was far worse.  _The things I do for you, PHO boards._

Her face transformed into a beaming smile. "Of  _course,_ Greg. Now, go and get ready. I'll be right here. And don't forget, dress to have fun."

Defeated, I headed toward my room. As I climbed the stairs, I thought I heard her mutter something under her breath. "And maybe the little shit will get laid."

I stopped. "What was that, Mom?"

"Nothing," she called out brightly. "Go get changed."

"Okay." I kept going up the stairs. _I must have heard wrong._

<><>

“So here we are.” She pulled the car to a halt. I looked out the windshield. There were barricades across the road. Beyond them … well, I'd never actually seen a street party before, but it looked kind of what I'd expected. People wandering across the street, drinks in hand. Bright lights set up. Booming music from speakers. House doors wide open, with people walking in and out.

It looked fun. It looked inviting. I saw two jocks with four girls surrounding them. It looked like my personal hell.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She gave me a stern look. “Get out. Go to the party. Maybe have a drink. Make bad decisions so I can yell at you in the morning.” A look akin to desperation crossed her face. “For Christ's sake, Greg, go act like a  _normal_  teenager for once.”

_Did she just tell me to drink alcohol?_  I decided not to ask, in case she got mad. “Okay, Mom. I'm going, I'm going.”

I got out of the car, closed the door, and watched as she reversed around to drive away. Never having felt so abandoned in my life, I turned back toward the party.  _Worst. Night. Ever._

<><>

So I stroll nonchalantly up to the barriers and step between them. Any minute, I'm expecting someone to call out to me and tell me to fuck off, but it never happens. A couple gyrates by, sort of dancing to the music. He's feeling her up. She's letting him. They fall over a low hedge on to someone's lawn, and don't get up. I hear grunting and panting, but I choose not to investigate.

I see a couple of jocks, chatting up some girls. One of the jocks looks in my direction, then backhand-slaps his buddy in the chest. They both look over at me and grin. It's the sort of grin that people see on a shark. Very briefly, in some cases.

_Oh shit._

Not panicking in any way whatsoever, I duck behind an ornamental shrub. Peering around it from the other side, I see them coming my way.  _Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, what do I do?_  Being wedgied at Winslow is one thing. Being wedgied at a street party is so much worse. More witnesses, for one thing. If I don't want to see pictures of me minus pants on the bulletin board for the next  _year,_  I've got to do something fast.

Right up until this point, I've been thinking that I'm not going to go into anyone's house. I mean, seriously, invasion of privacy much? But this changes things, so I scuttle in through the front door. There's people in here, standing around and talking. And drinking. I see what's gotta be alcohol, and it's a ninth-grader drinking it.

I keep going, into the living room. They've got a big-screen TV, and they're watching replays of the match on it. It's even worse in slow motion. “Hey!” shouts someone. “Down in front!” Before they can draw any more attention to me, I make my escape out the back door.

They've got a deck out here, and a jacuzzi. There's also a table set up with drinks and … well, drinks. A big-ass bowl of punch, as well. There's about a dozen people in the jacuzzi, which makes it a tight fit, as it's not a really big one. And I notice that the girls are all topless. I stare. Of  _course_  I stare; I'm a teenage guy, and tits are on display. The horny part of my brain – that is, the part that's in control most of the time – starts taking pictures of the bouncing, perfect breasts for posterity. I'll be able to beat off to this memory for  _months_.

One of the girls climbs out of the jacuzzi and  _holy fuck she's naked._  Not a stitch of clothing in sight. Water runs down off of her  _perfect fucking ass_  as she strolls toward the table. I am literally unable to tear my eyes away from her. I'm getting a boner; I know I am. Pretty sure some people in  _Boston_ know I'm getting a boner.

“Hey,” she calls out. “This punch spiked?”

“Shit, I knew I forgot something,” one of the guys says.

“No problem,” she replies. Picking up two of the bottles on the table – pretty sure she doesn't even look at the labels – she pours them both into the punch bowl. Once they're empty, she sets them down again and fills two cups with the now-potent brew.

Wandering back to the jacuzzi, she hands the cups to the guy and climbs in, lowering herself on to his lap. He grunts; she moans a bit. When they start moving together, I realise what they're doing.  _They're fucking, in the jacuzzi. Holy fuck, I thought that was only a porn movie thing._

“There he is!”

I look around. One of the jocks I saw earlier has just emerged from the back door. He's pointing at me.

_Fuck._


	2. Moral Dilemmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While being pursued by jocks, Greg undergoes several life-changing experiences.

I could've stood my ground and told them I had exactly as much right to be there as they did. Of course, that would've led to me being given the sort of wedgie that leaves two lumps in the throat (I'll give you a minute to figure that out) so of course I did the only sensible thing.

I ran like fuck.

Mom was always on me about getting exercise, but I was pretty sure this wasn't what she had in mind. Of course, if I bitched to her about it, she'd tell me to stand up for myself more. I didn't really have a winning strategy there, except not to tell her. If you don't play, you can't lose.

There was a car parked by the hedge separating this yard from the next one. With adrenaline stemming from sheer blind terror, I scrambled on to the hood of the car, then on to the roof. The metal dented and bowed under my weight, drawing a bellow of rage from one of the guys in the jacuzzi. Fortunately, he was one of the guys with a girl on his lap, very likely sitting on his cock, so he wasn't going anywhere fast. I know  _I'd_  be kind of reluctant to get up if I was minutes away from busting a nut inside a hot naked chick, no matter  _whose_  car got dinged.

Once on top of the car, I took a long running stride and launched myself over the hedge. Fortunately, I did it feet first. I was desperate, not stupid. There was a pool in the next yard, with people around it. The pool wasn't particularly large—maybe ten yards by twenty-five—but the yard was frickin'  _huge._ When I leaped over the hedge (and nearly broke my ankles doing it), I was lucky that the floodlights illuminating the pool were there to show me what I was landing on (nice thick turf, thank you landscapers).

I hit the ground on the very edge of the floodlit area and performed a picture-perfect acrobatic roll. Well, in reality, I landed in an awkward sprawl, because that's what I'm really good at. The best part? Nobody paid any attention to me. Not even the couple who were fucking, right next to the hedge, in a pool of shadow. I couldn't tell who they were, except that he was bigger than me (not a very high bar to clear) and she had the pottiest of potty mouths I'd ever heard. “Oh, yes, ruin my tight little cunt with your big thick cock” and “oh god, fuck me harder, you big hot stud” and other things like that. Actually, the more I listened, the more I thought I knew that voice, but it wasn't like I was going to hang about. Listening in on two people fucking wasn't exactly something I'd had the chance to do like  _ever_ , but even I knew it was kinda creepy, and likely to result in things like having my face punched in by the guy.

So I snuck away from that little source of potential teen drama (him: wow, I sure got my rocks off last night. Wonder who it was?; her: fuck. I'm pregnant. Who the fuck  _was_  that guy last night?) and with my luck, ran smack into  _another_  source of potential teen drama. That is, my very most unfavourite red-headed hot chick (who might or might not have featured extensively in my patented hate-fuck series of teen male fantasies), Emma Barnes. Gorgeous red hair, face of an angel, tits of a Playboy model, body to die for, heart of pure evil.

For once, I was lucky enough to not run into her face to face. Every time she'd spoken to me over the last year, she'd managed to cut me to the bone while pretending to say something nice, all at the same time. And that was  _nothing_  to what she'd done to Taylor.

This time, it seemed she'd bitten off more than she could chew. I stopped and watched, fascinated. It wasn't often that Emma Barnes was thwarted, but for once she didn't have her main pack with her. Sophia was off on the other side of the pool, talking to one of the guys, and Madison was nowhere to be seen. She was face to face with one of the senior girls, and they were both drunk, I could tell. Emma was proclaiming loudly that  _she_  was the one who ran Winslow, not any other half-price skank, and if they wanted proof of that shit, all they had to do was look at what she got away with  _all the fucking time_  when it came to Taylor Hebert.

There was a movement in the loose crowd, and nearby I was astonished to see Taylor herself, hand in hand with that blonde girl from before. I would've expected Taylor to be devastated by Emma's words, but the girl whispered something to her that seemed to cheer her up again. I had no idea what it was, but I kinda wished I had a friend like that. She'd even got Taylor dressed up a bit nicer than her normal jeans and hoodie; a stylish top and a thigh-length skirt that really showed off her legs. I thought I remembered seeing a couple of other girls getting around in that outfit. It must've been a new trend. Kudos for Taylor for trying it out. She really made it work, too.

The senior girl looked Emma up and down, and curled her lip. “You might be big time in sophomore class, little girl,” she said. “But you're  _nothing_  compared to the seniors. Go back and play in your sandbox, kid, before you get hurt.” She turned away from Emma dismissively.

“You can't say shit like that to me!” screeched Emma and launched herself at the other girl. That was where she came unstuck. Sophia was her go-to girl for applied violence. I'd watched that violence happen far too often to not know this. Emma might've had a little natural talent, but she had no idea how to apply it. The senior girl, on the other hand, did. She waited, back turned, until Emma got too close to back away, then she turned like a door closing. As Emma moved in, the senior girl's hand swung around and collected with the side of Emma's face in a slap that echoed across the yard. Emma was actually knocked sideways. 'Sideways' in this case meant the pool. There was a brief scream of realisation, then an almighty splash.

As Emma surfaced, spluttering and splashing, the entire yard erupted into laughter. Everyone was pointing and laughing at  _her._  It was an utterly glorious moment, and from the way phones were flashing, this moment had now been captured for posterity. What must've been worst of all was that Sophia only glanced around briefly, finished what was in the glass she was holding, then grabbed the hand of the guy she was talking to and dragged him toward the house.

I might have goggled a little then. Sophia Hess, the uptight, always-angry track star? Drinking, then dragging guys off for sex? (Come on, what  _else_  do you think she was intending? A heart to heart about how she truly wanted to win?) But there it was. She was weaving a little, but her grip on the guy's hand was ironclad. Truth be told, no girl ever dragged  _me_  off into a stranger's house to have raunchy drunken sex in their master bedroom, or whatever. I didn't know if I wanted to be him, or pity him, or both. No matter who had the dick in a fuck with Sophia Hess, she'd end up owning it (she might've been #2 in my hate-fuck list. Just saying).

Sophia's ass disappeared inside the house with the guy in tow, and I looked back to see how Emma was doing. That was when things hit a whole new level of weird. Because it was Taylor herself, along with her friend, who was down beside the pool and giving Emma a hand to climb out. Emma looked devastated, and Taylor was actually  _comforting her._  Patting her on the shoulder, even. The friend was right there with her arm around Emma, who was leaning on her, looking a little dazed. I would've been dazed, too. Emma had just been knocked off her perch as one of Winslow's queen bitches, and now  _Taylor_  was being nice to her, of all people. Personally, if I'd been Taylor, I would've shoved Emma back into the pool. Maybe held her head under water for a little while. As it was, Emma's top was basically transparent from the water, and she'd apparently chosen to not wear a bra tonight, so I—and anyone who chose to look—was treated to the best view of Emma Barnes' tits  _I'd_  ever seen.

Giving Emma a supportive kiss on the cheek, the girl led her down the alleyway alongside the house, with Taylor on the other side. As they passed close to me, I heard Taylor say, “It'll be all right, Emma. Everything will be all right. You'll see.”

Right then, I knew that Taylor Hebert was a candidate for pure sainthood. Nothing else applied. I mean, holy shit. Who else would  _say_  something like that to someone who'd tortured her for so long? I half-expected Scion himself to drift down out of the sky with a chorus of angels and grant her super-powers as a reward for being so amazingly, unselfishly  _good._

But nothing of the sort happened. They vanished into the darkness alongside the house, and I looked around to see where I should go next, because those jocks might still be out looking for me. Just then, the guy Sophia had dragged into the house emerged again, looking  _pissed._  It wasn't hard to see why; he had puke  _all over him,_ from mid-chest on down. His buddies gathered around him and I drifted closer. It seemed that she'd been all hot and willing, right up until he was lying back on the bed and she was pulling his pants down, and then she threw up all over him, all over the bed, all over everything, then fell asleep. The guy was vociferously angry at the whole thing, and his buddies were commiserating with him all the way. “Fuck that bitch,” was the general tone of things.

As much as I disliked Sophia, I'd heard of people falling asleep drunk and choking on their own vomit, and I didn't wish that fate on  _anyone_. So I left the group figuring out how they were gonna get clothes for their buddy, and slipped into the house. It was a big house, matching the yard, but it wasn't hard to figure out where Sophia was; I just followed the smell of vomit.

In the second bedroom I came to, there she was. The lights were out, but illumination coming in from the hallway showed her lying splayed out on the bed, snoring like a steam-train, lying in a puddle of her own vomit. I wrinkled my nose at the smell, but I couldn't just leave her there. So I tiptoed over to the bed, and shook her arm. “Sophia,” I whispered. “You can't just lie there. We've got to get you cleaned up.” There was no response. I shook her arm, harder.

“Mmf?” She seemed to come halfway awake. “Whozat?”

“It's me, Greg.” I tugged at her arm. “Come on, let's get you out of those clothes.”

Obediently, she sat up and I started helping her get her top off. Now, I'm going to stress that I only intended to help clean her up, maybe put her to bed in another bedroom in her underwear. Taking advantage of her was never my intention, no matter  _what_  fantasies I might have.

Of course, I  _had_  been expecting her to be wearing a bra. When her top came off over her head, those beautiful bouncy tits were just  _there._  I stared at them, a boner spontaneously springing up in my pants. Never in a million years had I expected to see Sophia Hess's breasts up close. Or Emma Barnes', for that matter, but Emma had been a few yards away and under wet cloth to boot. Sophia's were uncovered by anything, and right there in front of me. Of  _course_  I looked. I would've had to be a stone statue not to look. Mind you,  _part_  of me was imitating a stone statue at that moment.

“Oh god, gonna puke,” she mumbled, drawing my attention really quickly.

I helped her up, and we wobbled over to the ensuite. I flipped the light on, then held her hair (the part of it not already caked with puke) and rubbed her back (her bare back!) while she made horrendous noises over the toilet. Some might wonder that I had the self-control not to at least cop a feel of her breasts, dangling under her while she puked, but my self-preservation instincts are very well-developed, thank you very much. I didn't  _know_  that she'd rip my lungs out for touching her tits, or even if she'd remember me doing it, but I didn't want to risk it.

Finally, she finished evacuating everything she'd unwisely consumed, then looked at me blearily. Then she looked down at her puke-stained jeans. “Fuck,” she muttered.

“You've got some in your hair, sorry,” I said. “That happened before. The first time you threw up.”

“Fuck,” she said again, then focused on me. “I know you, don't I? Greg someone?”

“Veder,” I supplied. “You want me to go now? I can go.” I didn't  _want_  to go, with those tits staring me in the face, but I'd rather be able to see out of my eyes.

She pondered that for a long moment, then shook her head. “No. You've already seen what I've got. 'm gonna take shower. Can you scrub my jeans off?” She indicated the wash-basin.

“Um, sure?” I was willing to do anything for her, if it let me stay in the bathroom a moment longer, and see even more of her body. By now, my boner was doing its level best to unzip my fly all by itself.

“Good.” She stood up, her tits nearly brushing my face, then pushed her jeans down. I watched as her perfectly toned ass, encased in a tight little pair of red panties, emerged into view. She stepped out of these, apparently not even caring that I was there any more, and got in the shower.

I snapped my eyes away from her mesmerising butt when she closed the cubicle and turned to look at me. Grabbing up the jeans, I hurried over to the basin and started doing my best to remove the worst of the puke from them. Once I'd soaped them and left them to soak, I went and got her top, and did the same for it. It wasn't a perfect job, but between the cleaning job and the scented soap and hand cleaner (I really went all out) I figured that it wouldn't stink too badly until she could get it in the wash.

I was just doing my best to wring the top out when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and there was Sophia, wearing a towel. Well, kinda wearing a towel. Her breasts were almost popping out the top of it, and it didn't really cover her down below either. I gulped as I tried not to look at any part of her that might annoy her, but there wasn't much in the way of choice.

“You've really done a good job,” she said.

“Tha--” was all I got out before she pulled me in for a kiss. She was still drunk as fuck, I quickly realised; her lips only landed half on mine, and her breath smelled of strong booze and puke. But I didn't care, especially as her towel chose that point to come undone. I tried to catch it, but all I caught was her left tit. So then I was standing in a very small enclosed space with a naked and (apparently) horny Sophia Hess, and my right hand squeezing her left breast. Many men before me had had this exact fantasy. I can recall the sensation of her tit in my hand to this day.

“Mmm,” she murmured, pressing her body against me, apparently taking my tit-grab as a move. “You go for what you want. I like it.” Taking me by the hand, she towed me through the en-suite and into the other bedroom connected to it, where the bed was pristine and clean. Then she kissed me again, this time full on the lips. “You wanna fuck me, don't you?”

I gulped. Was this a trick question? Of  _course_  I wanted to fuck her. Nearly all the guys in Winslow did. Even some of the gay ones. Some of the girls, too. Most of the male faculty, as well. And I'd once caught a glimpse of the art teacher's private folder, which had some  _extremely_ well-detailed nudes of her. Some in rather lewd poses. I'd never seen Ms Mandell in quite the same light after that.

“Well, you want me, I'm here,” she slurred. “You're not Brad, or Damien, or even Craig, but you held my hair, an' that's good enough.” Turning around, she lay face-down on the bed with her ass hanging over the end, her thighs spread invitingly. “So come get me, stud.”

“Um, are you sure?” I gulped. Unbidden, my hands started undoing my jeans. The view of her pink pussy, surrounded by that rich chocolate-brown skin, did things to my boner that I couldn't believe.

She glanced over her shoulder once. “Tell anyone, and I'll kill you,” she said. “But yeah, I'm sure. I need a fuck in the worst way, and you're it.”

That was all the invitation that I needed. I didn't even bother feeling insulted at the phrase 'worst possible way'. Hastily, I undid my jeans and shoved them down. Which was when my body betrayed me and I came convulsively, my sperm spurting into my underwear. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back a groan.  _I can still do this, I can still do this._ Frantically, I pulled my cum-covered cock out of my underwear and started trying to rub it back to erection, while using my left hand to caress and probe her ass and pussy. The idea was to keep her occupied until I was hard enough to claim what she'd offered me.

“Mmnngh,” she groaned as I slid my finger inside her. It nearly drove me wild as well, and my cock started hardening up again nicely. “Put it in me and fuck me like you mean it, Veder. I don't need fingers. I need a cock.”

“You got it,” I said, getting down on my knees and aiming my now-hard penis at her hot wet slit. Oh, god, how many nights had I fantasised about doing this exact thing? Even telling her I'd put 'just the tip' inside, then ramming the lot in? But she  _wanted_  me to fuck her like that. My head was spinning as my  _other_  head touched her Holy Grail, and started to push its way inside …

A hand slapped over my mouth and yanked me backward away from Sophia, pulling my cock away from her pussy. I was jerked around to the side, to see at least four or five of the jocks from downstairs, all wearing big grins and massive erections. One was holding me, while another was already taking my place behind Sophia. Almost insane with jealousy, I watched as he rammed his cock into her without any kind of finesse or tenderness.

“Oh,  _god,_ yes!” she groaned, pulling a pillow over her head.  _“That's_  what I need! Fuck me just like that, Greg! Fuck, your cock's enormous!”

As the guy grabbed her hips and started to work his thick meat deeper and deeper into her needy pussy, I found myself being forcibly escorted out of the bedroom. When we were a little way down the corridor—though I could still hear the squeaking springs, and Sophia's broken cries of sheer lust—the guy let me go. “Get going, Veder,” he growled. “If you try to come back in there, we'll put you over the bed next to Hess. Pretty sure some of the guys won't have any trouble shoving their cocks into your ass instead of hers. And if you ever tell her this wasn't you, you'll  _wish_  we'd just fucked your ass into a steaming puddle of cum. You got me?”

I wanted to be able to throw it back in his face, but there was nothing I could say or do that I could count as a win. Sophia was getting the fuck that she wanted, but  _I wasn't giving it to her._  These guys were gonna take their turns with her until they were done … fuck. Just … fuck.

“Yeah,” I muttered, tucking my rapidly-deflating cock back into my sticky underwear and pulling my jeans up again. “I got it.”  _The jocks win again. Why is my life always a steaming pile of buffalo turds?_ As I trudged from the house, I wondered—not for the first time—exactly which deity I'd pissed off in a past life that had led to this moment.

Mom's advice to get drunk seemed pretty good right now. I didn't find anyone drinking downstairs, and I didn't want to go back to the yard where the jacuzzi was, but I was sure there was alcohol elsewhere. So I headed out of the front door and out into the street. While I was standing on the pavement, wondering which way to go, I saw Madison heading past me.  _Huh,_ I noted.  _She's wearing the same outfit as Taylor._  It definitely must've been a new trend. She wore it well; there was a bump and grind to her walk that made her look at least fifty percent sexier. I watched her go, wondering if there was alcohol where she was going to.

“There's the little fucker! Get him!”

My head whipped around, but my feet were already in gear. A bunch of guys had come around the corner, among them the original jocks who'd been chasing me, as well as the guy whose car I'd climbed on. He must've finished with the girl on his lap, I figured, though he didn't look as laid-back as someone should be who'd just got their rocks off. I didn't spend any more time looking in their direction, but instead just bolted.

I passed two houses at a dead run, then spotted Madison walking up the path to a third. A quick glance behind told me that nobody could see me right at that second, so I hooked the gatepost with my hand and swung around the corner. “'Scuse me,” I muttered as I blitzed past Madison and ducked through the door in front of her. People were wandering here and there through the house, but I didn't care. I was just looking for a hiding place and somewhere to get a drink, preferably in that order.

An open doorway beckoned, and I took it. The floor dropped down a couple of steps, but I just leaped down them. There was a long table loaded down with booze of all kinds—score!—with a heavy cloth draped over it—double score! Without slowing down, I dropped into a baseball slide. The floor was polished wood, and I zipped straight under the table. I was pretty sure nobody even noticed me. The drape of the cloth gave me a certain amount of concealment, which was what I wanted.

As I sat there, trying to get my breath back, I looked around the room. Heavy cloth draperies around the periphery of the room gave the room an air of being some sort of pagan temple, not at all dispelled by the heavy candles around the walls, all lit and adding a melange of scents to the air. (You like that word? Picked it up last month in English class). I wasn't at all sure that there weren't some drugs going around, too. There was the acrid smell of weed—anyone who went to Winslow knew  _that_  smell—and possibly some of the harder stuff as well.

Heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of the goon squad. They burst into the room, demanding to know where  _that little fucker_  had gotten to. Nobody seemed to know, but a girl asked them if they wanted to stay and have some fun. Three of them seemed to be interested, so I resigned myself to remaining under the table for a bit.

The cloth on one side of the table was a little higher than the other, so I had a bit of a view of what was going on. Taylor's friend walked into view, still hand in hand with Taylor. She reached up and wiped something off of the corner of Taylor's mouth, then handed her off to another guy. The guy groped Taylor's ass blatantly right there, and to my surprise, Taylor didn't protest at all. He raised her skirt so much that I thought for a moment she was going commando under it, then I saw the thin strip of a thong running down between her butt cheeks. Then they were gone out of my line of sight.

I was still wondering what the hell was going on with that, when Madison arrived. She came right up to the girl and handed her a bundle of money, then they shared a kiss like I'd never seen Madison share with  _anyone._  Was she gay? Had she been hiding it all this time? I supposed that she  _did_  hang around with two hot girls an awful lot, but … wow. I felt myself getting hard, watching them kissing each other like that.

They finally broke the kiss, and the girl took the time to count the money. “You need to do better, Madison,” she said mildly.

“I'm  _trying,”_  Madison said pleadingly. “I'm telling them how big their cocks are and everything you told me to say.”

My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped.  _Holy fuck, Madison was the girl having sex next to the hedge!_  I would never have believed in a million years that was her! It was just … no fucking  _way!_  Was this girl running her as a  _prostitute?_ Was she running  _Taylor_  as one? Rage began to rise within me. What the fuck was I supposed to do?

_Okay, call the cops. There's no way this is legal, or normal._  I scrabbled for my phone.

It wasn't there.

Fuck.

Double fuck.

_Triple_  fuck.

Somewhere along the way, it had fallen out of my pocket.

I was out of options.  _Think, Greg, think!_

While I was racking my brain, I saw Emma come up to the girl, but it was an Emma that I'd never seen before. She was wearing the same outfit that Taylor and Madison were, and she had smeared makeup on. There was also something white trickling down her leg under her skirt. I had a real good idea what it was.

“Wow, that was fun,” she giggled. “Got any more for me?” Behind her, I saw two guys swaggering out of the room. Two plus two equalled 'she just fucked both of them at once'. Again, I was torn between intense jealousy and even more intense rage. Because no matter  _what_ fantasies I might hold, making these girls turn tricks like common whores was  _just fucking wrong._

“Sure,” the girl said. “Those three there.” She accepted a roll of money from Emma. “Much better. Madison, you need to learn from her.”

“But she lets them put it in her  _butt!”_ whined Madison. “That  _hurts!”_

The girl leaned close and kissed her gently. “No, it doesn't,” she whispered. “You love it. Now go out there and earn me some money.”

“Oooh, okay!” Madison kissed her back and danced out of the room. I blinked.  _Did she just … fuck. Holy everloving FUCK. She's a Master. That's why they're fucking guys for her._

This wasn't a cop situation. This was a PRT situation. But I was still short of a way to fix this shit. As far as I knew, the three guys who'd been hunting me were still in the room. If I got out from under the table and denounced her, they'd be all over me like poison ivy.

And then, Taylor came back. She was limping slightly, and the top was torn. The guy sounded happy, though. “She'll definitely do,” he said. “She's still very tight, but she'll learn to enjoy it in time. I figure she'll be top billing in my house. How much?”

All the anger I'd felt before came out in a rush. I heard the girl say, “Just give me a moment—” but I wasn't listening any more. Self-preservation be  _fucked._  Madison and Emma (and whoever else she had dressed up in those outfits) turning tricks was bad enough. It was bad, sure. But teenage girls  _had sex._  It was technically rape, but even rape was survivable. What this girl was about to do, sell Taylor off as a whore, where she wouldn't be able to stop once the night was over, where she'd never leave while she was alive,  _was not gonna fly._  Not on  _my_  fucking watch.

I rolled out from under the table and came to my feet. “Leave Taylor alone, you BITCH!” I screamed. I'd never thrown an effective punch in my life, but as the girl turned in surprise from whispering to Taylor, I brought my fist up from what felt like ground level. When my bunched knuckles hit her jaw, I thought I'd broken my hand. But her head snapped back and she crumpled like wet tissue paper. I stood there, stunned.  _Holy shit, that worked?_

The guy who'd been about to buy Taylor glared at me. “What the fuck—”

I didn't let him get any farther. With my other hand, I punched him as hard as I could in the stomach. He stumbled a little way back, then his fist came out of nowhere and clocked me in the guts. Now,  _that_  was a gut-punch. I doubled over, the edges of my vision turning red, trying not to puke up  _everything_ I'd had in the last day.

“Nobody interferes in my business deals,” he growled. I turned my face upward weakly, just in time to see him pull out a small automatic pistol. The muzzle, as it slanted down toward me, looked like the end of Chevalier's cannonblade. _Oh, fuck._

And then there was a  _clock_ sound, and the guy went down like the girl had before him. Standing over him, breathing heavily, holding a solid wooden stool, was Taylor.

I already had a thing for her, but right then, I fell in love with her. Especially when she swung the stool down again, and bounced his head off the hardwood floor. “Buy  _me_ , will you?” she growled, then she turned to me. “Greg! Are you—”

“Look out!” I choked out. Taylor, Scion bless her, was on the ball. Even as I formed the second word, she was already turning, the stool swinging with her. One of the jocks from before had been coming for Taylor, but the stool caught him right in the guts. He staggered back and fell on his butt, wheezing for breath.

I scrabbled for the gun, then struggled to my feet. People were advancing on us, so I pointed the gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. There was an awesomely loud CRACK, and they recoiled away from us. “Fuck off!” I yelled into the silence that followed.

Well … they fucked off. That is, they panicked. Screams and shouts arose, and they bolted from the room, pushing and shoving to get out the door. It was only after they were gone that I realised that some of them had pushed past some of the candle-stands, knocking them over. Where they fell against the wall-hangings. Which were starting to catch fire.

“Fuck!” I yelled. “We've got to put this out!” I grabbed a cushion from a nearby chair and tried to beat the nearest flames out. When the fire spread to the cushion, I dropped it. Looking around I could see that the hangings were going up like tinder, and some of the fire was spreading to the ceiling. The house was made of wood, not brick. “It's gonna go!” I yelled.

“Yeah!” she replied. Then we looked down at the two unconscious people, then at each other. I could see the same ethical consideration going through her mind as mine. It would really be better if they died … but if we let them burn, we'd have to prove that there really had been a Master at work. It was a rock-solid guarantee that none of the guys who'd paid to have sex with an underage girl would admit to a single second of it.

“Fuck it,” I said, and grabbed at the table cloth. With a tremendous yank, I pulled it off the table. With it went all the bottles of alcohol; it appeared I wasn't ready for stage magic quite yet. Also, most of the bottles smashed, which wasn't on my game plan. I hoped the booze wasn't all flammable.

“What's the plan?” she yelled over the sound of crackling flames. That fire was really catching hold now.

“Roll them on to it!” I shouted back, mainly because I was still half-deaf from the shot. “We'll drag 'em out!”

“Good thinking!” She helped me spread the cloth out, then roll the guy on to it. Picking the girl up, I dropped her on top. Her eyes flickered open, and I kicked her in the face with never a flicker of conscience. The impact jolted all the way up my leg, but I didn't care. I met Taylor's eyes, and her savage grin matched mine.

We took hold of the cloth and started across the floor. It slid easily enough, right until we got to the steps. This was where grunt work would come in. I picked up the girl again and tumbled her on to the upper section, then grabbed the guy under his shoulders. Taylor helped with his legs, but it took all our time to get him up those two steps.

We got them both on to the cloth again. By now, we were both streaming with sweat, partly from the exertion and partly from the heat from the fire. The room we'd just come from was well and truly alight. Side by side, we bolted down the hallway and out the front door. Master-girl and Fuck-turd were jolted by the three steps down to the pathway, but I gave not a shit. We stopped a little way away from the house, and I stopped to catch my breath.

“What … what's going on?” It was Madison, her clothes askew and a distressed look on her face. I didn't answer, because I was scanning the crowd for a particular face. A very  _recognisable_  face.

I didn't see her.

“Emma,” I said urgently. “Has anyone seen Emma Barnes?”

There was a general lack of response. Behind me, the flames crackled loudly. A window shattered.

“Fuck,” I said. “She's still in there.” The upper floor was as yet untouched. “Upstairs. Maybe trapped.”

“Greg, you're not thinking of going back in there, are you?” asked Taylor, grabbing me by the arms. “You'll  _die.”_

“I  _might_  die,” I said. “If I don't, Emma  _will_ die.” I stared at her face, into her captivating brown eyes, willing her to understand.

“ _Fuck,”_  she muttered, her eyes falling away from mine. “Well, I'm going in with you.”

“No,” I said flatly. Somewhere along the line, I'd shoved the gun in my pocket. I pulled it out now, and handed it to her. “Make sure those two assholes don't go anywhere before the cops get here.” I yanked at the sheet, tumbling the two unconscious people off of it. “Hose, hose, hose. Need a hose.”

“You're not gonna put that out with a fuckin' garden hose, Veder!” yelled one of the jocks from the crowd.

“Fuck you!” I yelled back, finally spotting what I wanted. Darting over to it, I turned the tap on full, playing it over the tablecloth, soaking it as much as I dared while the fire roared on. Then I wrapped it around myself and ran back into the house.

_This was a really bad idea._ I realised this about two steps into the house. The air was thick and stifling, what little fresh air there was being drawn in behind me. I took the time to kick the door shut, cutting off that inlet of fuel for the fire. Unfortunately, it cut off  _my_ fresh air too, but those were the breaks.

My eyes were already stinging from the smoke in the air, and I was trying to breathe through a double-folded section of the sheet to minimise inhaling the stuff. In this, I was only mildly successful, but it was enough.

There was no way I was getting up the stairs from that room; it was a solid mass of fire from end to end. Just looking into the room did away with my eyebrows. I guess all that alcohol was flammable, after all. But there had to be a second staircase. I stumbled on through the house, coughing harder and harder, looking for it.

It took a thin cry of distress from above to clue me in; the smoke was thick enough that I nearly walked straight past it. Dashing up the stairs, I paused when the fire burst through the wall ahead of me. I wrapped a still-wet part of the cloth around me—the heat was evaporating it faster than I would've believed possible—and stumbled up past it. The heat was  _incredible._

Emerging on the upper floor in a cloud of smoke, I looked around. “Emma!” I called out, trying not to double over from coughing. “Emma! Where are you?”

There was an answering call from behind me, and I stumbled in that direction, as flames overtook the staircase altogether. We weren't getting out in that direction.

Every door I came to was open, except for one. I took a wild guess and wrenched it open. Emma was huddled on the floor, coughing worse than I was. I figured she'd been suffering from it longer, and she hadn't had the cloth to breathe through.

She was also naked. Her clothes were on the floor, but we weren't going to stop to dress. Pulling the tablecloth off of myself, I wrapped her in it and lifted her in my arms. After the asshole I'd just hauled out of the house, she weighed nothing at all. “Hang on,” I told her from between hacking coughs. “We're getting out of here.”

There was no way out of the room we'd been in. There was a bed, on which I presumed they'd been fucking her, but no window. I stumbled out of the room, and looked around. The smoke was strong up here, but … it was eddying in one direction. Trying not to trip over anything, I staggered in that direction.

When I got there, my heart sank. It was an air-vent, installed for what reason I had no idea. I had no way out. The heat was increasing exponentially. I could hardly breathe. We were gonna die. I was never gonna see Taylor again.

And then light penetrated through the haze of smoke. I turned and peered, but all I could see was the glare. That was good enough for me; if I didn't do something  _now,_  we were both dead. Shambling into a clumsy run, I barrelled toward where the light was. I just hoped it wasn't the light at the end of the final tunnel. Flames burst up from the floorboards around my feet. Emma screamed. I didn't have the breath; I just kept running.

I saw the window about half a second before I hit it with my shoulder. It wasn't the type of window that was designed to open. I opened it anyway. With a crash of shattering glass, we tipped over the window-frame and fell on to a sloping roof. Fire roared out of the window behind us, as if angry we'd gotten away. I sucked in beautiful, ice-cold air as we tumbled over and over, then we were in free-fall. I was pretty sure I was on fire.

Then we hit the surface of the pool.

I sank deep, with Emma still held firmly in my arms. Gradually, hampered by the cloth and my shoes and the rest of it, I swam to the surface. My face broke through and I inhaled another deep breath. Beside me, Emma coughed and choked, but at least we were alive.

Taylor was at the side of the pool when we got there. She extended her hand to help me out, a grin on her face. “Thought you might need a signpost,” she said. My expression must have clued her in, because she nodded toward the far end of the pool, where one of the floodlights had been wrestled around to point at the house.

“I love you,” I said, with all the feeling I could muster.

She smiled. “I know.”

<><>

It was much later. The cops had come and gone. The fire department was still hanging around, soaking down the ashes to ensure that the houses on either side weren't about to catch. I'd given my statement about three times, and been told that I'd need to come down to the PRT building to give it  _again_  in the morning. Miss Master had been taken away by the PRT with a closed-face helmet over her head. So had the prospective buyer, on a stretcher; Taylor hadn't been gentle with the stool.

Taylor sat down beside where I was slumped on a concrete bench. “Hail the conquering hero,” she said lightly. She'd acquired different clothing; where from, I had no idea. I thought she looked amazing.

“It's not gonna change anything, you know,” I said morosely. “I'll still be the guy all the jocks pick on tomorrow.”

Leaning in, she kissed me on the cheek. “It's changed something with  _me,”_ she said when I looked her in some surprise.

“What?” I stared at her. “I mean, how can you … after what they …”

She smiled sadly. “Yes, I had sex tonight. Several times. But … that doesn't matter. I didn't do it deliberately. I'm going to need therapy. Lots of it. But at the time, it was consensual. I'm not turned off having sex. Especially not with someone I  _want_  to have sex with.” Then she put her hand on my leg.

I'm about as oblivious as it gets. But even I can take a hint, when it's applied with a two-by-four clue bat. “I … what? You want to have sex with me?” I stared at her. “Now?”

This time, when she leaned in, she kissed me full on the mouth. There was even some tongue there. She was obviously as inexperienced as I was, but she had a certain amount of enthusiasm for the task. I rallied quickly, and put my arms around her. By the time we broke the kiss, she was moaning softly and running her hands through my hair.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Right now.” She looked around, and indicated a small park. “In there.”

Hand in hand, we got up and darted into the extremely ill-lit area. Something caught on my foot; when I stopped and examined it, it turned out to be a pair of panties. That, I decided, was a good idea.

We lay down on the thick turf together. I kissed her again, and she responded avidly. She guided my hand up under her top, where her naked breasts awaited. They weren't as big as Sophia's—I firmly squashed that line of thought. The last I'd seen of Sophia, she was pulling a train of jocks, thinking they were all me. Taylor was here, now, not drunk. She wanted  _me._

With shaking fingers, I unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it back off of her shoulders. When I leaned in and started sucking on her breasts, Taylor arched her back and made gratifying moans deep in her throat as she tangled her hands in my hair.

Somehow, by incremental progression, I ended up with my face between her legs, her borrowed jeans pulled off and discarded. Some part of me worried that I'd taste the men she'd been with, but there was nothing of the sort. The only thing I could detect the musky deliciousness of pure Taylor Hebert. If she liked it when I sucked on her tits, she  _loved_ it when I went down on her.

I'd once looked up how to do cunnilingus online. It was true; you could find  _anything_  on the internet. Between then and now, I'd never had the chance to apply that esoteric knowledge. Or should I say, that  _erotic_  knowledge. But it appeared I'd actually picked up something worth knowing. Taylor certainly appreciated it, anyway. She bucked her hips up toward me as I trailed my tongue between her slippery labia; when I sucked on her clit (why, yes, I  _do_  know where to find it) she clenched her thighs around my head and came like a firecracker.

Then it was my turn. I lay back as she fumbled my still-damp pants open (I'd just never gotten around to getting fresh clothing, and these had been drying on me) and coaxed my rapidly-hardening erection out into the open air. Her lips on my cock made my eyes cross and wrenched a heart-rending groan out of me. And then she began to suck me off in earnest. I ran my hands through her gorgeous curly hair as she bobbed her head up and down. I could actually  _feel_  when my tip entered the back of her throat, and it was all I could do to not cum right then.

“Gonna cum,” I grunted. She sucked harder. I felt my eyes roll back in my head as the hot semen blasted up through my shaft for the second time (though  _much_ more satisfying than the first time) and spurted into her mouth. I couldn't help thrusting my hips upward, though I restrained the urge to push her face down on my penis. Either way, she wasn't bothered. I could feel her mouth working as she swallowed busily, in time with the white-hot blasts (so it felt) pouring out of the head of my cock.

Finally, I was finished. I lay back, panting as she crawled up to snuggle up to my chest. She kissed me; I was a little dubious about potentially getting my cum in my mouth, but I mentally shrugged and kissed her right back. If she could handle it, so could I.

“Did you like it?” she asked with a giggle in her voice. She shifted a little, and I felt her naked breasts rubbing over my chest. My cock began to harden again almost immediately.

I pulled her up for another kiss, then cupped her naked butt cheek and squeezed it. “It was the second best thing that's gonna happen to me tonight,” I said honestly. Then I kissed her again. I really couldn't get enough of that.

“Me too,” she breathed. I felt her hand fold over my swelling penis, and she stroked it briefly, bringing it to full hardness. Then I felt rather than saw her climb up to straddle me. “Greg?”

“Yeah?” I reached up into the darkness to cup her breasts and squeeze them. Her breath hitched as I tweaked her nipples.

Her hand guided me into place, and I felt the first touch of her hot wetness on the head of my erection. I'd been this far with Sophia before the jocks had wrenched me away. There were no jocks here. I manfully restrained myself from thrusting upward. Slowly, she lowered herself, her soft tight pussy gradually engulfing my straining length.

I had died and gone to heaven. There was no doubt about it.

Almost teasingly, she sank down until she was fully impaled on my cock. I moaned softly as she began to work herself back and forth, sliding her pussy up and down on me, driving me wild with the sensations. Leaning forward without stopping what she was doing, she kissed me then whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

I took hold of her and rolled us over on the soft, springy turf. She laughed throatily in the darkness, and I wondered if she'd meant me to do that. Her long legs wrapped around my waist, and I began to stroke into her. Twice, I slipped out of her, but she expertly put me back on track. On the second time, I thrust at the wrong time, and found myself slipping into a much tighter hole. “Ngh,” she grunted. “Not that, not yet. Later.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, pulling my cock out of her butt. It had been really, really tight. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not you,” she said softly, and rewarded me with a kiss as she guided me back on target. I thrust, and slid easily into her tight hot wetness. “Oh, that's much better. No, the last one I was with was … kind of rough, back there. I'll be sore for a few days, but after that …” She left the rest hanging.

I kissed her. “Taylor?” Lowering my mouth to her nipples, I suckled on them one at a time, while I kept bucking my hips, thrusting into her.

“Y-yeah?” she grunted, her voice coming in pants. I suspected she was getting close to another orgasm.

“I love you too.” I'd heard about how men could put women's ankles on their shoulders for totally rad sensations, so I knelt up and did this. It worked. As I began to stroke into her, Taylor cried out as she came under me. Moments later, I found my hips jerking as I rammed my cock all the way up inside her and came explosively. We clung to each other, kissing frantically, with her legs locked around me, as my cum jetted into her tender young pussy. It was the ultimate expression of our love.

<><>

Mom pulled the car to a halt. “Greg?” she asked, disbelievingly. “You look like …”

“I know what I look like,” I agreed. “Trust me, do I have a story to tell you.” I turned to Taylor and kissed her, then I turned back to my mother's utterly gobsmacked expression. Moments like this were  _so_  worth being an only child. “Mom, this is my girlfriend Taylor. Taylor, this is my mom.”

“Hi, Mrs Veder,” Taylor said with a little finger-wave. “I'm really pleased to meet you.” She pulled my face to hers, and kissed me hard. “See you at school tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” I opened the car door and climbed in. My hand held hers lightly, our grip only parting as Mom pulled away. As we did so, I saw Taylor heading for another car that was just pulling to a halt.

“Girlfriend.” The word was weighted with a certain amount of disbelief. “You have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah.” I was feeling bubbly. Probably due to having escaped near-certain death, saved the girl of my dreams … oh, and getting laid. Also having said girl of my dreams telling me she loved me. “It's a long, long story. Oh, and I'll probably be in the papers too.” More than one person, I'd been told, had gotten a picture of me leaping through the window with Emma in my arms and the flames billowing out behind us.

She gave me a look that said  _who are you and what have you done with my son?_  But all she said out loud was, “I'm listening.”

<><>

**Epilogue**

**The Next Day**

I walked into Winslow hand-in-hand with Taylor. We'd spoken about it, and decided that neither one of us cared if anyone knew about the fact that we were a couple. She put her books in my locker—I'd given her the code—then I kissed her and we headed off to home room.

Or at least, I headed in that direction. I got about halfway before a classroom door opened and I was yanked inside. Astonished, I stared at Sophia Hess. She looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep at all, and she was kind of walking funny.

“Uh, Sophia?” I asked. Witty comebacks for every occasion, that was me. “What's up? I haven't told anyone about … you know.”

She grabbed me and kissed me, her mouth hard and urgent on mine. I felt her tongue trying to delve into the depths of my mouth. If it had been the day before, I would've let her, but that was before Taylor and I fucked each others' brains out. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I pushed her back.

“What?” I demanded. “What do you want?”

“ _You,”_ she hissed. “The way you fucked me last night … I passed out from cumming so hard. But you know that. By the time I came to, you were gone. I want more of  _that._  I want you to fuck me again like that. Tonight.” She leaned in and whispered, “Especially the way you did my ass. Oh  _god,_ the way you did my ass.”

Which explained why she was walking funny. If all six of those jocks had fucked her in the ass, I'd be astonished if she  _wasn't_  walking funny. “Now, Sophia—” I began, then stopped. If I told her it wasn't me, those jocks would  _smear_ me. And I didn't mean with words.

“Tonight,” she said, and ducked out through the door.

“Fuck,” I muttered. By the time I opened the door, she was gone. Shaking my head, I headed for home room. I'd talk to Taylor, try to figure out how to handle the Sophia situation—

“Greg! Psst, Greg!”

_What **now?**_ I looked around, to see Emma beckoning to me from … a  _broom closet?_  I stepped closer, frowning in confusion. “What's up, Em—”

With surprising strength, she grabbed me and dragged me into the closet. The door slammed behind us, and she wedged a mop handle somehow so it wouldn't come open. The little light inside the closet came on, and I saw … Emma. Naked. Somehow, she'd managed to shed her top  _and_  her skirt in those few seconds.

While I goggled, she grabbed me, and kissed me. Her firm breasts pressed against me in a very arousing manner; I found myself with my arms full of naked girl. A naked girl, moreover, who had her hand down my pants, stroking my already partly-aroused cock. It wasn't my idea, but the little bastard had ideas of his own.

Before I could react, she was on her knees with my fly open. It was the work of a moment for her to free my erection from my underwear, and then she was sucking blissfully on it. Taylor had done it better, but she wasn't terrible at it by any stretch. “Oh, god,” I groaned as I felt the cum rising in my balls.

And then I exploded in her mouth. She coughed and choked a little, but managed to swallow nearly all of my load. I sagged back against the wall of the closet as she set about trying to resuscitate me for a second go. I strongly suspected how that was supposed to go, and that was where I drew the line. Ambush blowjobs were one thing, but sex was a thing both sides had to work at, and I was  _not_ going to cheat on Taylor. Not even—and I couldn't believe I was even  _thinking_  this—with Emma Barnes.

“Emma!” I said, grabbing her and lifting her roughly to her feet. “What the fuck is going on?” She was panting after the blowjob, and some of my cum had splattered on her tits, but I had no eyes for that. Well, not totally anyway. Absently, her tongue crept out and slurped up some of my semen. I almost lost it right there, but then I thought of Taylor again and my resolve hardened. “Well?” I demanded.

“You  _saved_ me,” she said hopelessly. “Nobody else came for me. They say I was going to be sold into sexual slavery along with Taylor and a few others. You saved me from that. Then the house was on fire. I would've burned to death if you hadn't saved me. I want to be with you. I want to make you as happy as I can.”

I didn't facepalm, but it was a close thing. “And you figure dragging me into a broom closet and sucking my dick was the best way of thanking me? Why not, you know, a gift card or something?”

“It was the Master,” she said softly. “I can't stop thinking about sex. I want you to fuck me. I want you to do me in the ass.” She began to rub her body against mine. “I want you to be my boyfriend. Nobody's ever going to bully you again. I promise.”

I had my doubts about that. I'd seen the aftermath of her little drunken spat at the pool. But even if it would've worked that way, I couldn't. “Emma, I can't. I love Taylor. I'm with her now.”

“Taylor?” She began to sneer the word.

I pushed her hard against the far wall of the closet. “Stop! You don't touch Taylor again. You don't bully her again. She helped me save you. You got that?”

She blinked at me, totally submissive in an instant. This was giving me whiplash. “Really?”

I nodded. “Really.”

She nodded, firmly. “Then I'm going to have to become  _her_  friend, and ask if I can borrow you.”

I sighed. “Whatever. Just spread the word. Taylor's off limits.” Pulling the mop handle out of the way, I opened the closet and stepped out, uncaring of whoever saw Emma naked in there.

As I made my way to home room, I reflected over the change in my circumstances that one day could make. I had a girl I loved, and I would do anything for. Then I had two more also pursuing me, whom I  _didn't_  want.

My name is Greg Veder, and I'm an unwilling harem protagonist.


End file.
